Everything seems brighter

In the brilliant autumn sun.

Leaves on trees and on the ground

Are gold, when day is done;

Or red as fire; or yellow, like

The tardy marigold

That tries to match chrysanthemums,

And laugh away the cold.

But autumn is victorious

And bids fair summer go,

For that Great Artist up above

His Palette fills with snow.

He weaves a crystal tapestry

To hail Thanksgiving Day;

And all the world must bend the knee,

And bow the head, and pray.

Diana Sutliff